


Like The Jingle Of A Bell

by EatTheFeather



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Romance, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatTheFeather/pseuds/EatTheFeather
Summary: Little moments between Jaskier the bard and Tilleedee the half-elf... Could it be Destiny?(Based on the Netflix series.)
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 17





	1. Bittersweet Balcony

**Author's Note:**

> Presented in no particular order.

_"Geralt, I'm sorry... I'll talk to her..."_

_Jaskier felt guilty... The duchess was being unfair. He followed his friends down the winding halls as they were being escorted out of the castle. Tilleedee smiled sadly at him,_

_"It's alright, Julian-", she glanced at the Witcher, "-we're used to it."_

_The bard sighed as they reached the gates, "I **was** allowed to invite guests, Tilly, I-", his eyes fell to the ground in shame, "-I would **never** humiliate you on purpose."_

_She'd bought a new dress for the occasion; Geralt had even bathed (not that he was looking forward to the occasion, but Jaskier had insisted.) All three of them now awkwardly stood in the threshold, Tilleedee wrung her hands,_

_"I know, Julian-", she bit her lip in thought, "-where is your room?"_

_Jaksier's gaze snapped up to hers, a flush coming to his cheeks, "What?"_

_"I have an idea."_

_The guards were watching them impatiently. Geralt grew increasingly uncomfortable. He tugged at the girl's arm, urging her forward, "Let's go."_

_Jaskier panicked, blurting his room's location, "E-east wing, overlooking the gardens!" Tilly beamed at him and shouted,_

_"Be there when the sun sets!"_

_He could only nod and wave as his friends left for the inn._

* * *

The sky started turning orange...

Jaskier excused himself, feigning indigestion, much to the duchess's (and her guests) dismay.

He waited out on the small balcony, fingers drumming against the railing. The cool breeze soothed his nerves. He felt a bit silly, not knowing what he was waiting for... _A knock at the door? How would she get past the guards? Would Geralt help her? No... Maybe, Tilly had her ways..._ His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the rose bushes.

"But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?",

Tilleedee's voice was hushed, her eyes full of mirth,

"It is the east and Julian is the sun!"

She posed dramatically, a hand on her heart, the other held aloft. He let out a small chuckle and shook his head, "Is _this_ your _idea_?" 

Tilleedee squinted up at him, hands on her hips, "No." She mumbled, approaching the wall. Worrying her lip with her fingers, she mused, "I was hoping to see how the other half lives..." 

She shook the trellis, unsatisfied with how it rattled. Jaskier leaned over, "Ah", he gestured to an intricately decorated column, "Then might I suggest some conveniently placed carvings?"

Tilly smiled, "Conveniently placed carvings, you say?"

Placing her foot upon a marble leaf, she hauled herself up, slowly but surely. The bard's heart lept in his throat when her boot slipped, his arms instinctually jutting out to grab her hand. A blush crept over her face when she fell over the railing and he pulled her close in a tight hug, teasing,

"You left Geralt all alone for little old _me_?"

She shoved him playfully, waggling her eyebrows, "He isn't _alone_."

Twirling out of his grasp, she peeked her head through the doorway. A low whistle escaped her lips, " _This_ is where you're staying?"

He nodded and watched as she threw herself on his bed, "The duchess must _really_ like you." Jaskier crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe, "Not as much as her husband hates me." A soft laugh and she sat up on her elbows. He caught the sparkle in her eyes as they went wide, but he hardly heard the " _oh, look at that_ ", voice barely above a whisper as she brushed past him. 

The sky was breathtaking; orange, pink and purpling clouds, the little houses of the surrounding town dotting the landscape... The dark silhouette of the forest sharply contrasted against the horizon...

Jaskier joined her on the balcony, leaning on his elbows, chin in his hands.

" _Right_?"

" _Yeah-"_ she leaned in closer, "I wonder what goes on in those houses..."

He stood up straight, inching his fingers nearer to hers, "Probably-" he stopped, before their pinkies nudged, "Probably a husband coming home to his wife."

" _Hmm_." Tilleedee turned and sat against the railing, "The house smells like warm stew..." she trailed off with a sigh. They fell into a comfortable silence. Jaskier smiled. He liked seeing her like this; softer, more open. _Vulnerable, trusting_. He noticed she was still wearing the dress...

A simple thing, really, the delicately embroidered fabric a muted yellow colour... The neckline was nothing especially _provocative,_ but in stark contrast to the high necks of her usually laced up shirts... It was enough to send his mind reeling...

_What if he... Kissed the exposed skin? Yes, what if he did? He knew exactly how he'd do it... His fingers would find her waist, thumbs sweeping across her ribs... Lean in and press his lips against her collarbone...the dip of her neck... Gently... She deserved gentle... Would he be able to feel her pulse as he kissed her? The warmth of her flushed cheeks against his own? He would whisper in her pointed ear, "Call me Jaskier, call me Julian... So long as you call me yours."_

She looked at her feet, hoping he wouldn't notice the red on her cheeks. He didn't. He was too enraptured in his own fantasy. He'd discarded his jacket much earlier in the evening; he often did after performing, feeling sticky with sweat. She liked seeing him like this; more genuine, not so done up. _Comfortable, trustworthy._ The hairs peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt distracted her...

_If she were to slip her fingertips beneath his collar and let them dance across his chest... She knew she had cold hands... Would he shiver? What she wouldn't give to make him shiver... Travelling up his neck to the hairs on the nape of his neck... Would he lean into her? She would lean into him... Press up against him... Would they kiss? What she wouldn't give to kiss him... Would he be gentle? Would he be warm? Of course he would be, he was Julian... He was home..._

"Tell me about the banquet."

"What?" his voice was strangled, eyes wide. She giggled, "The banquet, paint me a word picture." He nodded, disappearing briefly into the room and reappearing with his lute cradled in his arms. Tilleedee rolled her eyes. _Of course._

"Allow me to regale you-" he strummed a chord, "-with the tale of...ummh."

She laughed at him and he pulled a face, " _You_ try coming up with something on the spot!" She crossed her arms, tilting her head, "I didn't ask for a _song_."

"You're very lucky then, aren't you?", his fingers danced across the strings as he leaned forwards, "A private performance _and_ an _original_ ballad?" He gave her a cheeky wink, content with keeping his longing a secret. _For now. For tonight. Until they met again..._

* * *

She couldn't stay with him, not in this place. She left at sunrise, sneaking out the way she came, joining Geralt at the inn for breakfast. He wouldn't leave with her, not this time. He had another banquet to attend.

He _did_ get to whisper in her ear, (but not the words he wanted her to hear,) as he held her in a tight embrace,

_"Until we meet again, Tilly."_

_"Until then, Julian."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Shakespeare isn't canon... But it's a balcony scene... Can ya blame me?


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Descriptions of violence. Optimistic ending (a lil' fluffy).

The thin layer of frost crunched beneath Roach's hooves and the two pairs of boots walking behind him.

The hairs on the back of Geralt's neck prickled. The forest smelled like death. His hands tensed around the reins. Bodies were strung across the winding road, swaying in the cold breeze. He stopped his horse. Jaskier piped up behind him,

"What is it, Geralt?"

The witcher gestured to the path ahead of them. Tilleedee let out a shocked gasp. Coming to stand next to the mare, Jaskier whispered,

"Bandits?"

Geralt hummed, hopping off his saddle, sword at the ready.

The half-elf ran past them, the dagger she hid in her boots clutched tightly in her fist. With a furious yell, she hacked at the rope that was wound around the tree. It snapped and the bodies crumpled to the ground. Geralt stormed over to her, whirling her around to look at him. He was prepared to berate her for endangering them all, but any anger he had melted away when he saw her watery eyes. She fell to her knees near the smallest corpse, her voice shaky,

"It's not bandits..."

Their clothes, boots, jewelry and any other item of value were still on their person. Geralt sheathed his weapon. He breathed a heavy sigh, "What do you want to do?"

Tilleedee wiped at her tears, "Bury them." Geralt shook his head, staring out into the trees, "The ground is frozen."

She stared up at him, heartbroken, "Please..." The witcher pursed his lips. Damn it.

Jaskier had been standing, uncharacteristically quiet up until that point. He crouched, carefully placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, voice gentle, "Why, Tilly?"

She tilted the body's head, revealing the bloody nub on the side of its temple. Oh. Geralt had understood right away... Jaskier felt like a fool.

"Oh. _.."_

* * *

That night they set up camp and made a fire. Tilleedee stared into the flames. Her hands ached, caked in dirt. Jaskier sat next to her, absentmindedly plucking at his lute's strings. Her eyes looked empty.

Geralt nudged her boot, handing her a kerchief he'd dug out of her pack. She nodded at him in silent thanks and toyed with the white fabric a long time. She hadn't felt the need to wear it in years... She slipped it over her ears, tying it at the nape of her neck. Jaskier cleared his throat, "How do you feel?"

"Tired." She sounded far away. She sighed and stood, not sparing him a second glance and went to lay on her bedroll....

* * *

_She tentatively opened the door, the sounds of screams reaching her ears as she stepped out. Ashes stung her eyes and smoke made her choke. Her hands felt sticky; blood, the tang of it filled her mouth. She walked, reaching the square..._

_Her family hung there, dead. The crowd yelling jeers at them. She could not scream. She was alone._

_She could not save them. Dread settled in her stomach. Someone told her to run._

_Run._

**_Run!_**

_So she ran and as she ran, the ashes swarmed her. The cloud of smoke grew thicker with every step, but still she ran. She could not see. The ashes and smoke swallowed her whole. She could not scream._

_Her family hung there... She was alone._

* * *

Tilleedee woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

Jaskier snored softly on the ground beside her. Geralt sat on a log, tending to the fire.

"Can't sleep?", he asked lowly.

She sat up, steadying her breathing, hiding her face in her hands. The witcher awkwardly shifted, "We can find a tavern in Asheberg-", he watched as she tucked her knees near her chest resting her head on her arms, "-perhaps a bed will yield better dreams." He only got a tired nod. The crackling fire and Jaskier's snores punctuated the silence.

* * *

A bed did not yield better dreams. The ashes stung her eyes and she woke up crying. Her room was cold and dark. She felt alone, choking back her sobs. Out in the forest, though she had companions, she had felt alone. She'd secretly hoped to be scooped up in a pair of arms and soothed; reminded that she _wasn't_ alone. She silently begged to be held right then, sitting up in bed. _Why did no one comfort her? She didn't want to be alone anymore._

Jaskier had been very solemn during the makeshift funeral, keeping what he believed to be a respectful distance. He wanted to give her enough space to grieve. She had put on a brave face... _He couldn't read minds._ Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she ventured into the hallway. She softly knocked at his door.

Jaskier appeared, hair mussed with sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at her confused, "Tilly?"

Any hesitation she had, vanished when she saw the concern on his face. _He cares._

"What's wrong?", he reached out to wipe a tear. She could only whisper,

"I don't want to be alone."

He moved aside, inviting her in and settling on the bed. He opened his arms. As she laid beside him, he wound his arms around her shoulders, pressing her head to his chest.

He mumbled against her hair, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She sniffled, "No."

He hummed, rubbing small circles on her back, "What can I do?"

"Just hold me."

And so he did.

* * *

_That night, when she opened the door, there were no ashes. There was no smoke._

_Snowflakes lazily floated downwards, getting caught in her hair. She took a deep breath; the air was cold and crisp. Holding her hands out, she let the snow melt on her fingertips._

_She smiled and felt giddy. Running out, she threw herself into the thick, fluffy layer already covering the ground. Closing her eyes, letting the snowflakes tickle her cheeks and eyelashes, she remembered she wasn't alone._

_She sat up, hands feeling a bit numb from the cold and shouted to the person standing in the doorway._

_"Join me!"_

_The wind picked up, blowing a flurry of snowflakes around her. She laughed._


	3. Drunken Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking and dancing. Yennefer tries to play matchmaker.

Yennefer poured more cherry wine into Tilleedee's cup, the first few glasses already painting her cheeks a lovely rosy colour. The party they'd been travelling with had been celebrating a recent victory, building a bonfire and breaking out the ale. The women retreated to the only quiet place they could find, chatting ( _gossiping_ ) in the sorceress' tent. As they drank, their conversation drifted towards more _personal_ topics,

"I've lost count."

Tilleedee giggled, smiling despite her scolding tone, "Yen!"

The woman shrugged, "When you live as long as I have, you stop keeping track." She sipped her wine, face splitting into a cat like grin, "What about you?"

The girl bashfully traced the rim of her glass with her finger, refusing to meet Yennefer's gaze, "Oh, well you know..."

_I've never even been kissed._

Yennefer gasped, "You've never been _kissed_?"

Tilleedee's eyes went wide, a hand flying up to her mouth, her rosy cheeks turning red, "Did I say that out loud?" Shaking her head and grabbing her friend's hand, Yennefer stands, pulling the half-elf up with her.

"What are we doing?", the girl stumbled a bit. _Lightweight_. She didn't receive an answer, until they were out near the bonfire, observing the group of dancing drunken men. Yennefer pushed Tilleedee, both hands on her shoulders. Leaning forwards she whispered in her friend's ear, "We're getting you laid."

Tilleedee gulped.

* * *

"Magnus!"

Yennefer had selected her target, waving at a burly redheaded man; handsome, rugged and tall. _So very tall_. The man approached and introduced himself to the blushing girl at the witch's side. He was also from Skellige; his sister even had half-elf children of her own. Yennefer smiled smugly as Tilleedee looked up at him with wide eyes. He whisked her away for a dance, a surprised giggle escaping her lips as she was practically swept off her feet.

A gravelly voice made Yennefer look to her left,

"Is this a good idea?"

The sorceress scoffed, "Let her live a little, Geralt-", she pushed a finger to his armoured chest, "-you're _not_ her father."

Geralt crossed his arms, "That's not what I meant." He nodded in the direction of the bard entertaining the crowd. Jaskier kept singing, but his smile fell when he caught sight of the dancing pair. Yennefer sauntered away to find a place by the fire, "Not my problem." The witcher huffed.

* * *

The raging bonfire was nothing but embers, most of the company had already retired for the night. Jaskier was moping on a stump, tuning his lute when he was forced to shift. Tilleedee had plopped herself on the ground with a content sigh, resting her head on his thigh. He fought the urge to run his fingers through her hair as he usually would. She turned to look up at him with a pout and his heart melted. He went back to his instrument, not wanting to give in.

"Did you have fun?", he asked in a neutral voice.

Tilleedee hummed, "Almost."

She lifted her head, instead resting it on her knees, "I didn't get to dance." Jaskier scoffed, "You _did_." He hadn't meant to sound bitter, but she _smiled_ at him. "I didn't get to dance-" she reached up and poked his nose, "-with _you_."

His eyes widened, " _Oh_?"

She stood, offering a hand, "We _never_ dance."

He looked at her softly, slipping his palm into hers, " _Someone_ has to play the music, darling." She tugged his arm, blaming her flush on the alcohol in her system.

"We don't need music _now_ , Julian."

Leaning his lute on the stump, he joined her, gently placing a hand on the small of her back and she wrapped an arm around his neck. Lacing their fingers together, they swayed in the glow of the dying fire. He hummed a slow song and twirled her, dress fanning out around her as she spun.

As they danced, she buried her face in his neck.

He stopped.

"Why'd you stop?", she mumbled against his skin. He chuckled, "I thought you were falling asleep."

Whether it be because she felt his heartbeat quicken or because he smelled like honey or because he lovingly tucked her hair behind her ear ( _or perhaps it was the_ _wine_ )... Tilleedee felt bold,

"No, not asleep-", she pressed a kiss to his neck, "-just wanted to kiss you."

His breath stuttered and he felt her grin when she kissed his throat again.

"T-tilly..."

"Hmm?", her nose brushed against his cheek as she kissed up his jaw. He pulled back, took in her flushed skin and parted lips. A lopsided smile graced his features, mischief woven in his words, "You keep missing."

She frowned, confused. He leaned in, hand cupping her face, thumb sweeping over her bottom lip,

"My lips-", he gave her mouth a chaste peck, "-are here." Her laughter turned to a soft moan as he dove in again, _this_ kiss decidedly _less_ chaste.

* * *

The witcher stood at the entrance of Yennefer's tent, watching as Jaskier whispered something that made Tilleedee nod, both of them disappearing into the trees, giggling like teenagers.

The sorceress handed him a drink, winking. Geralt looked down at her with suspicion,

"Was _this_ your plan all along?"

Yennefer gave him a mysterious look, " _Perhaps_..."

He shook his head with amusement, "No it wasn't."

She shrugged, "I said I would get her laid-", she lead him to her bed, "-I never said with _whom_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens in the woods is up to you...


	4. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jaskier first met Tilleedee.

The tavern was bustling and the women were beautiful. They twirled around him, fingers trailing over his biceps, cooing about his songs and _how brave he was to be travelling with a witcher._ He became enamored with a busty blonde who fluttered her lashes and leaned heavily against him. She was _very_ forward, hands flitting down to his hips.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a girl who was staring intently. A little dark haired thing. _Pretty_. Nothing compared to _Eliza? Effee? Something with an e... Still... Pretty._

Her expression was that of curiousity. _Amusement_ , even. Their gazes met and her eyebrows raised in a humorous way.

A slim finger traced his lips, "What are you looking at?"

He brushed away any thoughts of the pretty stranger and offered a dazzling smile to... _Eveline!_

"Nothing, Eveline, my sweet-", he shifted to lead her away from the crowd, "-shall we take this somewhere a little more-" his eyes flicked back, but the stranger was gone, "-private?"

* * *

Geralt was sitting in a dark corner of the now sparsely crowded tavern, nursing his ale in silence. Jaskier had been whisked away by an _eager_ fan; finally, some peace and quiet. Until someone settled on the bench in front of him. He was about to protest when he saw a pair of familiar brown eyes.

"Tilleedee."

"Geralt." She rested her chin on her hands, mischievous smile plastered on her face, "Did you miss me?"

He sipped his ale, deadpanning, "No."

She laughed and he sighed, "What do you want, Tilly?"

Leaning back, she shook her head, "Nothing." She furrowed her brows and mumbled, " _Maybe some apples_..."

He gave her a knowing stare. She raised an eyebrow, "Can't I catch up with a friend?", she rolled her eyes and mocked his deep voice, " _We're not friends,_ yeah yeah, save it." She glanced around the room expectantly.

"Who are you looking for?"

Tilleedee's mouth was pulled up in a crooked smile, "That bard-" she looked at Geralt, "-you know him, right?"

Jaskier's voice was smooth as he slid in next to her, "Yes, _he does_. Julian Alfred Pankratz-" he gripped her hand gently and brought his lips to her knuckles, "-pleasure to meet you." Geralt groaned in irritation.

She blushed; up close he noticed the light smattering of freckles across her cheeks.

"My name is Tilleedee." She tucked a strand of hair behind her hair. _Pointy. A_ _half-elf, perhaps?_

The table became _very_ interesting to her as she was powerless against the furious blush that bloomed on her face. She tried to stay cool... _He had pretty eyes..._ Jaskier grinned; he liked the shy ones (well, to be fair, he liked them _all_ ).

"Are you a fan, _Tilleedee_? I couldn't help but notice you staring earlier."

The witcher exhaled hard through his nose, wishing he was somewhere else... The girl's bashfulness melted away as soon as she remembered why she came to talk to Geralt in the first place.

"No, _Julian_ -" she paused, carefully choosing her words and trying not to laugh at the poor man, "-you were being robbed."

Jaskier's face fell. He patted himself.

His coin purse was gone.

_Fuck._

Geralt choked on his ale ( _not_ a laugh, definitely not). Maybe he _did_ miss her _._

The bard whipped his head towards him,

" _IT'S NOT FUNNY, GERALT._ "

* * *

The witcher had allowed Tilleedee to tag along (not for any sentimental reasons). She let out an eager sound and wandered a little ways off the path.

She stared hungrily at the apples that hung just out of reach.

"Geralt, help me up!"

The witcher rode past her, not even glancing at the girl once. Hands on her hips, she glared at his back, turning her attention to the brightly dressed man behind him. Her voice was sickly sweet, _"Julian..."_

Jaskier stopped, sighing and slumping his shoulders. _Got him_. He turned on his heels to look at her, "Yes, _darling_?", his voice laced with sarcasm. She fluttered her lashes, the way she'd seen the women who draped themselves across his shoulders do, "Won't you please help me up?"

He waved a finger at her, " _That's_ not fair."

She feigned innocence, giving him her best doe eyes. He grumbled, crouching and cupping his hands to lift her up to the nearest branch, "Just make it quick, before Geralt abandons us."

She plucked three bright red apples and hopped down. She juggled with them, before offering one with a flourish, " _Ta-da!_ " 

He stared at her blankly and snatched the fruit from her outstretched hand, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

She nodded emphatically, "Yes."

"It didn't work." He pouted, "I'm not a _child."_

She bit into her apple, shrugging at him and jogging ahead to deliver one to the witcher. While she wasn't looking, he allowed himself a _small_ smile.


	5. Home: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martha My Dear by The Beatles
> 
> Split this one in two.

_Martha, my dear_

_Though I spend my days in conversation_

_Please, remember me_

_Martha, my love_

_Don't forget me_

_Martha, my dear_

Tilleedee's quill scratched the words into her little tattered notebook. It was a gorgeous sunny day and she sat beneath the shade of a willow tree near a river. She'd been travelling alone, opting to sleep outside whenever she could. She wanted to enjoy the clement weather while she still could, before reaching her native village in Skellige.

Some leaves rustled nearby, followed by familiar voices. Geralt had brought Roach to the banks for a drink, pointedly ignoring Jaskier gesticulating beside him. They hadn't noticed her yet. Tilleedee bit her lip. _Fun_. However, she needed to hurry; surely the witcher would recognize the smell of her soap on the breeze.

Shuffling as quietly as she could, the girl scaled the tree she'd been leaning on. Geralt's head whipped towards the sound of snapping twigs. His hand reached behind him to grasp the hilt of his sword. Jaskier twiddled his hands nervously,

"What is it, Geralt?"

An angry snarl was enough to shut the bard up. The witcher's nostrils flared and he visibly relaxed, staring up into the branches above him. Hands on his hips, he called out,

"Tilly."

"Tilly?", Jaskier asked eagerly.

The leaves parted and Tilleedee's upper body dangled upside down in front of them, beaming, arms outstretched,

"Tilly!"

The bard jumped at the suddenness of her outburst, both of them laughing. Pulling herself up, she sat on the branch, swinging her legs, "Hello!"

Geralt fought the smile off his face and turned away to tend to his horse. Jaskier held his hand out, chuckling, "Come down here, so I can hug you!" She jumped and he caught her in his arms, squeezing tightly.

* * *

The sun was setting and Geralt had made camp. Tilleedee held her notebook open on her lap, eyes darting between the page and the man reading it.

_Hold your head up, you silly girl_

_Look what you've done_

_When you find yourself in the thick of it_

_Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you_

_Silly girl_

Jaskier's eyes travelled over the words, squinting in an attempt to read the near illegible handwriting. She couldn't help but admire his profile. He looked _serious_. He took pride in his work and when she'd asked for his opinion his face had lit up. She bit her thumb nervously.

"Who's Martha?", he turned to her with a furrowed brow.

"Oh, right-", she searched for the right way to say it, "-she's my, um... she's my mother." She shrugged. Jaskier opened and closed his mouth like a fish. His voice was quiet, as if revealing a terrible secret, "I thought... I thought she was _dead_."

Tilleedee smiled sadly, "Yes, my _elf_ mother-" she plucked at the blades of grass, "-she's the dead one..." She twirled the grass in her fingers. Jaskier nodded.

" _Ah_. I understand.", he reached for the notebook, changing the subject, "What's the occasion?"

He flipped through the book, lingering on some of the illustrated pages. Tilleedee scooted closer to him, "It's her nameday and I can't afford anything else."

Jaskier chuckled. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, "She means the world to me." She closed her eyes and sighed. He read over her poem again. Curiosity got the best of him, "What were they like?"

"Hmm?"

"Your _birth_ parents-" he quickly added, "-if you don't mind my asking."

She opened her eyes, watching the river flow, "I don't remember much, but-" she paused, "-I know my mother was a midwife-" she smiled wistfully, "-she was kind _,_ but _sad._ "

Jaskier's hand found her knee, urging her to continue.

"I didn't know why she was so sad until I was older. I used to pull faces to make her smile." Turning her head, she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, earning a chuckle from him. She sighed, as though a weight was lifting. Jaskier's voice was gentle, "And your father?"

She thought a long time, "My father..." She seemed as though the words surprised her, "He was... A _lot_ like Geralt, actually."

The witcher was minding his own business nearby, sharpening his sword. He halted; he hadn't _meant_ to eavesdrop, but he was... It was almost flattering. Until Jaskier opened his mouth,

"Oh! You _poor, poor_ child!", he pulled her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest, muffling her giggles.

She shoved him, grinning, "Hey, I turned out alright! He taught me how to cook!"

He pushed her hair out of her face, "I suppose..."

The way he looked at her made heart flutter... _Gods, he had pretty eyes_...

She blurted out without thinking, "Come with me." 

"To Skellige?"

She nodded, "To meet Martha. You could sing my song..."

As if he needed any convincing.

* * *

The boat ride was rough. Harsh winds whipped around them, sprayed now and again with freezing cold water. The ferryman gazed out at the sea, frost building up in his beard; Jaskier shivered, cursing his thin cloak. _Why was he doing this?_ A woolen scarf was wrapped around his neck; it smelled like citrus. The girl next to him whispered, breath warm on his ear, "It won't be long now-" she laughed at his sour expression, "-thank you for doing this." _That was why._

The boat lurched forward as it hit the shore. Jaskier's legs felt like cotton when he stood. He wobbled, boots crunching in the gravel. Tilleedee bit back a chuckle, following him towards the road. He huffed, readjusting his lute, "It's not funny."

"What?"

"You know what..." he grumbled, covering his face in her scarf. He rubbed his hands together vigorously; they were still bare. She shook her head, pulling off her leather gloves, "Here, you silly man."

He rolled his eyes at her, sighing in relief when he slipped them on, "What about you?"

She looped her arms with one of his, hiding her fingers in the fabric of his cloak, "I'll be _fine_."

They walked pressed together, the biting cold not the only thing painting their cheeks red _..._


	6. Home: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Just pure unadulterated fluff. Very self-indulgent.

Martha's cottage was in the woods, near a small fishing town. The winding path that led to it nearly invisible underneath the snow. Luckily, Tilleedee knew it well.

Jaskier's feet were aching and his nose felt like it would fall off at any second, but it was worth it to see the smile on Tilleedee's face. The snowflakes glittered in her dark hair. She pointed to a small house, smoke billowing from the chimney,

"There it is!", she ran towards it, excited. Jumping up and down, she urged him to hurry. He didn't need to be told twice. A loud bark startled them both.

The black dog that stood a few feet away was roughly the size of a bear. It's eyes were milky white. It barked again and Jaskier slowly back away. Tilleedee held out her hand, crouching,

"Yigg! Cáemm here baeg'dh'oine!"

The dog hesitantly sniffed her fingers and lunged forwards, tail wagging furiously. The girl laughed, pinned to the ground by the giant hound licking her face,

"Neén! Neén! N'te a'baeth! Va!"

A concerned looking older woman opened the door at the commotion. She had dark skin and a stripe of grey hair that matched her eyes. She looked at Jaskier, then at the ground. Tilleedee reached for her,

"Modron! Help me!"

Martha snapped her fingers, "Yigg! Va." and the blind dog entered the house, head hanging low.

She looked at the girl adoringly, "Me luned..." Tilleedee shook the snow off her cloak and hugged her mother, "Martha-", gesturing to the wide eyed man next to her, "-this is Julian."

A knowing smile graced Martha's face, " _The_ Julian? From the letters?"

The bard raised an eyebrow and nudged Tilleedee with his elbow, "From the _letters?_ " The girl only scoffed and rolled her eyes, pushing past her mother into the house. Jaskier followed and Martha placed a hand on his arm, whispering, "I can let you read them if you like."

He chuckled, "Only nice things I hope."

Martha winked and closed the door.

* * *

Jaskier clutched the cup of tea letting the warmth seep through his fingers. He sighed and closed his eyes. Tilleedee sat on the carpet across from him, near the small table, nursing her own cup of tea,

"Better?"

He tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders, "Much." She relished in the fact he was all bundled up in a blanket that had once been hers.

Yigg slept at her feet. Her heart felt full. Martha came back from the kitchen, offering her a warm slice of pie. "Martha... We're here to celebrate _you_."

The woman sat in the second armchair, waving a hand dismissively, "You can spoil me tomorrow."

Jaskier set his cup down with a smile, "Speaking of..." grabbing his lute, "May I?" Martha nodded and he sung softly,

_Martha, my dear_

_You have always been my inspiration_

_Please, be good to me_

_Martha, my love_

_Don't forget me_

_Martha, my dear..._

Tilleedee held her breath and watched her mother's expression carefully as the song ended. Martha applauded and Jaskier bowed his head, "Thank you, thank you, but credit goes to Tilly."

Martha's hand fell to her heart and grey eyes met brown. "You wrote this for _me_?"

The girl stood and wrapped her arms around the older woman's shoulders, "No, I wrote it for my _other_ mother named Martha."

She tutted, wrinkled hand swatting Tilleedee's playfully. The half-elf pressed a soft kiss to Martha's forehead, picking up the empty cups,

"I'll get us more tea. Julian?"

He held out his cup and tapped his forehead, "Yes please."

She chuckled at him, cheeks flushing. Their fingers brushed as she took the cup and her lips lingered on his skin. He watched her walk out of the room, big stupid grin glued to his face.

"You make her happy."

Jaskier turned to meet Martha's gaze. Something mysterious resided in the deep pools of grey. She was sizing him up. He sat a little straighter, "She makes me happy too."

_I love her._

Martha smiled, satisfied with his answer. She reached into her shawl, pulling out a pile of folded parchment. She waved him over, telling him in a hushed voice, "The letters."

He practically leapt out of his chair, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders. He grabbed the first letter, leaning on Martha's armrest. He frowned, "These are all in Elder..."

"Is that an issue?"

He shook his head, pride getting the best of him, "No! No... Of course not." He pursed his lips, concentrating hard on the words... _Why was Tilly's handwriting so scribbly?_

The older woman laughed, handing him a different page, "Here, this one has pictures."

His eyes widened in awe, fingers tracing over the lines. It was him. Several small sketches of him were littered all over her letters (there was the odd drawing of Geralt thrown in the mix, but he wasn't worried about Geralt). Tilleedee's footsteps approached. Jaskier quickly handed the papers back to Martha, who in turn shoved them back in her shawl. They both pretended to be staring in opposite directions.

He crossed his arms innocently as she appeared in the door, tea tray in hand. She eyed them suspiciously, "What are you two doing?"

"Nothing-" he pushed off the armrest and sauntered towards her, grabbing a cup off her tray, "-just talking about how you're _madly_ in love with me." He winked.

A nervous bark escaped her, "HA!"

_I really am._

She turned away, putting the tray on the table, "You wish..." 

_I do._

If Martha were younger, she would have bashed their heads together and told them to get married already. Luckily for them, she was wiser than that.

* * *

They lost track of time.

Tilleedee had spread out on the carpet, head resting on the snoring behemoth near the fireplace. She buried her face in her hands. Jaskier curled up in the armchair, arm hanging off the side to scratch the dog's head. Martha was telling another embarrassing childhood story, much to his amusement,

"What were you, a court jester?"

Tilleedee groaned from the floor.

"I thought it was a good idea!"

Jaskier laughed, "Bells?"

She huffed, crossing her arms, "It's my name! That's what it means!"

Martha interjected, "She sewed them on herself; all crooked."

He leaned over his armrest to get a good look at her face, "So you were _always_ a fashion disaster."

Her cheeks went red, "You're one to talk."

He gasped indignantly, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You _know_ what it means."

Martha patted her armrest, standing, "I think I'll turn in for the night."

Tilleedee whined, "No, Martha stay!"

The woman was already headed towards her bedroom, shouting back at her daughter, "Let me rest! I am old!"

Tilleedee shouted back, good humouredly, "That's your excuse for _everything!_ "

Yigg, the old hound got up abruptly to follow his mistress to bed. Tilleedee's head thumped on the floor. "Ow."

Jaskier laughed. He glanced around the room. _Cozy_. " _So_..."

"So..."

He rested his chin in his hand, "This place is your home."

She corrected him, " _Martha_ is my home. Home can't be a place when you never know where you're welcome."

He nodded, "Right. I forgot; people not places..." His attention was drawn to the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling.

She hauled herself up, yawning, "You're my home too-" she stretched, "-so is Geralt, in a strange way."

Jaskier's heart did summersaults, " _I'm_ home?" She gave him a tired and beautiful smile, "I thought you knew." His face was soft, bathed in the warm light of the fireplace. No one had ever trusted him this way; he'd been a _good time_ before, he'd even been a whole _affair_... Was he worthy enough to be someone's _home?_ "What-" he hesitated, "-what makes me _home_?"

The vulnerability in his voice made her knees weak. _There he went again, turning her to putty in his hands and he didn't even know._ She took a deep breath and came to stand between his legs. He looked at her like a lost puppy. _Those eyes would be the death of her_.

"Well-", she pushed his bangs out of his face, "-you're _patient_ and _kind_ -", her hand trailed down to his cheek, "-and _warm_ -", her thumb came to hold his chin, "-and full of _love,_ but you aren't _afraid_ of it." She felt his fingers wrap around her wrist. "You aren't afraid of giving it to anyone who needs it, which is _everyone_. I admire that about you..."

"Tilly...", he tugged at her waist and she sat in his lap.

"You're all the things a home should be."

Tears prickled Jaskier's eyes, " _Tilly_..."

Her eyes flitted down to his lips, "I think I ought to kiss you now."

He nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek, "Don't miss this time."

She laughed, smiling into the kiss. 


	7. Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. A continuation of Nightmares.

"You may want to tighten up that scarf, Cintrans don't take kindly to elves."

Jaskier had said it in an attempt to be helpful, as if the men they'd just buried hadn't made that clear... Tilleedee huffed, staring ahead as they walked, "Not an elf." She fiddled with her makeshift headband nonetheless, covering her ears snuggly.

The bard teased in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You've got the ears..."

He was cut off by a glare, "I am no more elf than human. My ears do not _define_ me."

Foolishly he pressed on, "Really? You're awfully _proud_ of them..."

Discovering the slain elven men had reopened a deep wound in the girl's heart.

She yelled, "Should I be _ashamed_?" The harshness in her voice surprised him.

She was too hurt to care who she bled on.

He stared at her, stunned. His silence was like the twist of a blade.

She scoffed, "That is all you see too, isn't it? My _blood_?"

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, "You cannot see the _love_ that went into making me?", she shoved him hard.

He tried reaching for her, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat. She pushed his arms away, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She moved forward, fists clenched tightly, biting the inside of her cheek.

She would _not_ cry.

She would not think of the hurt in his eyes as she yelled. She would not think of the way he'd held her when she couldn't sleep. The way he'd patiently dried her tears...

She wanted to stay angry. She felt entitled to it, after years of pent up frustration and guilt... and she'd snapped at the first human she could.

Whatever was left of Geralt's heart went out to the girl. She was right to be angry, but rage often clouded one's judgement. Jaskier had gotten caught in the crossfire.

* * *

Tilleedee had spent most of the evening outside. She didn't eat, her stomach was tied up in knots. She avoided the crowds, it was safer not to draw attention to herself. Her breath puffed in swirls with each exhale, disappearing into the sky. She stood on a bridge and watched clouds roll past the moon.

"You're not mad at Jaskier."

Geralt leaned on the waist high wall next to her.

She was stubborn, "Yes, I am."

He crossed his arms and turned to face her. "You're afraid."

A new storm started brewing in her heart, " _Shut up_."

Geralt exhaled hard, " _Damn it_ , _Tilly..."_

He grabbed her, forcing her to look at him, "Apologize to him-", his hands squeezed her shoulders, "-or you might _regret_ _it_."

She wriggled from his grasp and spat venom, " _W_ _hat_? You'll _hurt_ me?"

He was growing tired of this... "Just tell him how you feel."

Her voice thundered, "WHO ARE _YOU_ TO LECTURE ME ON _FEELINGS_?"

The storm raged on, tears spilling out on her cheeks like raindrops.

Geralt realised what she was in that moment; a wounded animal. He tried to help and she bit him. He grit his teeth,

"Fine. Be a _coward_."

He left her in the cold.

* * *

Tilleedee sat in her bath, mulling over the witcher's words:

_Coward_.

_He was right. She'd **always** been a coward._

_She ran when her family was dragged away..._

_Her father had fought for them... Gods, how he'd **fought**... _

_She **hid**... Painted her face in strangers' blood, laid amongst the bodies and **held her breath**..._

_She learned a lot of lessons that day; lessons no **child** should learn..._

_A **child**... Not a coward. _

_Geralt was right; she was **afraid**... Just a terrified child... And she was behaving like one now._

_Damn it._

_Perhaps it was time she faced the music._

* * *

The water was cold and her fingers pruned. She sighed, too numb to stand and dry herself off. _She would tell him in the morning..._

The door to her room flew open, startling her and splashing water on the floor. It was Jaskier, bursting in like a hurricane.

"Tilly!"

His eyes found hers; they were puffy and a duller shade of blue. They flitted down to the tub,

"Oh!", he turned around, closing the door. He rested his forehead on it, catching his breath. She tucked her knees closer to her chest, her throat was tight... _Just say it._ Her lips trembled with unspoken feelings. He broke the silence,

"Tilly...", his fist lightly hit the wood, "... I'm _sorry_."

She shook her head. _This wasn't how it was supposed to go..._

"That's what _I'm_ supposed to say." 

He opened his mouth to protest,

"I mean it, I'm _sorry_..." , he turned slightly, but stopped,

"Wait! Let me... Let me get out first!", the water sloshed as she stood. Goosebumps broke out on her skin as she dried herself off. She quickly pulled on her chemise and crossed her arms. He glanced at her over his shoulder,

"Can I turn around now?"

"No!" She shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, "It's easier if I don't-" she gestured vaguely in his direction, "-look at you."

He sighed, "I'm sorry."

She stomped her foot, "Stop it! Just stop! Stop apologising!"

She could see the glint of tears in the corner of his eyes. _She was breaking his heart._

"Julian... _I_ need to apologize."

His fingers fiddled with the doorknob. He said nothing, his sniffles filling the room. She took a step towards him, the floor cold on her bare feet,

"I am _so_ sorry..." she placed a shaky hand on his shoulder, "I was afraid."

He turned to face her and she shrunk under his gaze. _Just say it..._

She swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper, "I lashed out and..."

_Just say it..._

He leaned in and she bowed her head, "...I'm very sorry."

"There's something you're not saying."

"I can't."

He tilted her chin up. She saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes, "You can tell me anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of..."

He frowned, "Tilly..."

"My parents-" her voice quavered, "-they _loved_ each other-", anger flashed across her face, "-and they were _killed_ for it." She sighed and her fingers reached to play with the lace of his collar, "I can't let that happen to _you_."

Jaskier smiled sadly and pulled her in for an embrace. His hands burned her skin through the thin fabric of her chemise. She hugged his waist; he was _warm_. He pressed his nose to her wet hair. _Citrus_.

" _I love you too..."_

He said it quietly, whispered against her ear like a promise _._


	8. Stray Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Geralt and Martha first met Tilleedee. No Jaskier in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some swearing in this one.

Geralt's boots sloshed in the mud, gently guiding Roach to the nearest empty stall. His footsteps were slow and heavy; leather armour weighed down by the rain. The horse snorted. He soothed it in a low voice,

"Hush, you could use the rest."

He paused, patting his mare's neck when something shifted in the corner of his eye. At the far end of the stall, a pile of dark fabric lay on a bale of hay.

* * *

 _It had been months since the cleansing, the small town returning to something resembling n_ o _rmal._

_Martha tended to her garden and frowned. Once again, the tomatoes had been decimated as well as the carrots. Her potatoes had been dug up, but curiously, none of them had been touched, save for a single bite. Whatever creature stole her vegetables had also trampled her snowdrops and herbs. If this kept happening, she wouldn't have anything left come winter._

_This needed to end._

* * *

The witcher cleared his throat and the lump jumped, falling to the ground, revealing a young woman with bleary eyes. She rubbed at them tiredly and mumbled,

"I know, Dasom, no free lodging..."

She stood quickly, finally looking at the man that woke her, "Oh." She laughed to herself in relief. _Relief?_ Geralt considered her with suspicion,

"What were you doing?"

She smoothed out her skirt, "I was baking a pie."

He nodded, "Hmm."

Flicking a stray piece of hay from her cloak, she squeezed past him. Before leaving, she stopped, leaning on the beam that held up the leaky roof,

"You won't-" she gestured between herself and the hay, "- _tell_ the innkeeper, will you?"

He hauled the saddle off his horse and smirked, "Tell him _what_? There's a girl baking pies in his stables?"

She smiled and knocked the wood with her knuckles, "Well, alright then."

And with that, she was gone.

* * *

_Argert's dog had a litter of puppies not too long ago; already the dogs had grown to be formidable in size. Desperate to be rid of them, the fisherman had offered Martha a good price for one. She chose the biggest, blackest hound; surely it would frighten away any thieves._

_She found herself enjoying the companionship a lot more than expected, the dog, now known as Yigg, peacefully sleeping by her side while she mended her plants. So far, none of them had suffered any further damage._

_She let the dog spend its nights outside, guarding her small patch of land. It worked, as slowly but surely, her tomatoes recovered._

_Martha settled in her bed, sighing. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep..._

_Until a booming bark woke her. Then another. Martha's heart hammered in her chest. Bandits? Or a monster? Yigg barked again. She started worrying about the well-being of the poor dog, out there on its own, more than her plants. Grabbing a knife from her kitchen, she tentatively opened the back door._

_She heard the dog's barks, accompanied by squeals and laughter. A child. A little girl, with a dirty face and knotted hair, ran around her garden, inviting the dog to chase her with a bright dimpled smile._

_Martha had known her cottage would forever be empty. She'd made peace with that reality the day she took her oath, but the scene unfolding in front of her stirred those feelings she'd buried far away. The knife slipped from her fingers and clanged to the ground._

_The sound spooked the little girl and she disappeared into the woods._

* * *

"Oi! Witcher!"

Geralt ignored the drunken man standing precariously next to him. He swayed, hot breath fanning over the silver-haired man's face,

"We don' want ya here."

The witcher took a calm sip of his ale, resisting the urge to punch the man square in the jaw. A feminine voice piped up behind the drunkard,

"That's a shame, because you sure as hell _need_ him."

The stranger whirled around to face the girl, spewing vitriol as he shoved a fat finger in her face, "Shut up, ya half-breed, cunt. We don' need neither of ya."

The girl crossed her arms, tilting her chin up defiantly, "Oh really? Who's going to slay those drowners, then?" She quirked her eyebrows, "Is it _you?_ "

The man tensed, turning red in the face, "What about _you_? What are _you_ goin' do 'bout it?"

She shoved past him and plunked down a purse full of coins on the bar directly in front of the witcher, "This."

The innkeeper chimed in, refilling Geralt's ale, "Finally gave up on trying to get a room then, eh?", he pointed to the coin purse.

The girl rolled her eyes, "Your prices are _exorbitant_." 

Tossing a rag over his shoulder, Dasom leaned over the bar, wolf like grin spreading across his face, "You could always try the brothel, pretty face like yours, you'd make enough coin in no time."

The drunken man laughed darkly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I'll be your first customer..." 

She squirmed under his touch. Geralt stood, his stool screeching as it scraped against the floor. He glowered and snarled at the inebriated man who slowly withdrew his hand. Staring down at the young girl, he shoved her coins back into her hands, "I get paid once the job is done."

He emptied his tankard and slammed it unceremoniously on the bar, before walking away.

Much to his dismay, she followed him out the door.

* * *

_It had been several days since Martha had last seen the little vegetable thief. The girl had looked far too skinny; no doubt starving, scared. Alone..._

_She found herself leaving out plates of food on the windowsill, before retiring for the night. Every morning, Martha awoke and the food remained. At least Yigg got a good meal out of it. Despite her efforts being seemingly in vain, the woman found comfort in her strange new routine._

_She'd baked a pie and placed the last slice in the moonlight, like an offering..._

_The next morning, the pie was gone. Martha collected the plate with a smile. It was progress._

_That same day, while she busied herself in her kitchen, pouring oils into vials and grinding herbs, Martha heard a knock on her window. Looking up from the table, she saw a small fist poke out from the bushes and knock again. Sliding the glass open and leaning over the edge, the woman stared down into the shrubbery. A pair of hopeful brown eyes stared back up at her._

_She offered the little girl a warm smile, "Hello, I'm Martha."_

_Martha had expected her to be shy, but the child matched her expression, voice strong, "Hello."_

_Tiny fingers clutched the edge of the windowsill, pulling herself up on her tiptoes to peek into the woman's kitchen, "Uhmmm... Do you... Do you have more pie?"_

_Martha chuckled and the girl corrected herself, adding, "Please."_

_Ducking back into the cottage, Martha opened the door, "I have no more pie, but-" she gestured invitingly, "-we can make one together?"_

_The girl nodded eagerly, shuffling out of the shrubs, but when she stood near the doorway, her confidence waned. Yigg trotted down the hallway at the sound of the door opening and the girl's eyes brightened in recognition, "Oh, big dog!"_

_She stepped into the house to hug the hound._

_That evening, Tilleedee sat in the bath chattering away, Martha carefully untangling her hair. She smiled to herself, wondering who could ever abandon such a wonderful child. She slowed her movements as she pulled back a lock of dark hair, revealing a small pointy ear. The woman's heart sunk in realisation._


End file.
